


You Choose How It Ends

by MissPilot



Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: Angst, Eventual Sex, F/M, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Lethal White, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-02
Packaged: 2019-10-01 09:45:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 10,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17241980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissPilot/pseuds/MissPilot
Summary: Robin and Strike have been hired by the owner of a club they need to surveil where a patron is suspected of selling drugs.There are two possible endings to this fanfic. Read the one you think you’d prefer or read it twice, both times with a different ending. (They both end up at the same destination, but how they get there is up to you.)





	1. Boxes

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second attempt at fanfic and I couldn’t decide how to end it, so I wrote two possible endings. Read the one you think you’d prefer or read it twice, both times with a different ending. (They both end up at the same destination. They just take different routes.) 
> 
> The remix of ‘The Immigrant Song’ mentioned in chapter 4 is available to listen here: https://youtu.be/DiF4oHBXTlM
> 
> I hope you enjoy! All comments gratefully received.

The more successful they got, the more boxes of files they needed and the more storage space had to be found for them in their little office. Strike was grateful for both the work and the income, but getting very sick of having to move and rearrange things to accommodate all the paperwork. Keeping his weight on his good leg, he pushed a row of boxes under a table, grabbed a few more from the pile on his right and hauled them across to stack them on top of the table. The rest would fit on the shelves he’d put up; for now at least. 

Robin looked away. It was warm and Strike had no meetings scheduled today so he had dressed as casually as possible. The short sleeved t-shirt he was wearing was doing little to hide the play of muscles across his back, broad shoulders and arms as he manhandled the boxes. She was finding it very distracting. 

Eager to broach something professional she looked back at her screen. “I went to look at that club that Shifty’s been going to last night and from the outside it looks like a dive!”

“Yes, well we already kind of knew that, didn’t we?” When Strike turned to her, the smirk in his voice was evident on his face too. “He’s hardly going to hang out in reputable places, is he? He’s...well...shifty!”

They had named their most recent mark after a conversation with the owner of a string of clubs, who was convinced that the same drug dealer was peddling his wares in several of the clubs in town. Their client had his eye on one particular club goer but he needed to catch him in the act to prove it and the dealer was very adept at avoiding detection. The club he visited most often played ‘alternative’ music and attracted a very young crowd of ‘emo’, ‘metalcore’ and ‘pop punk’ clientele, much to Strike’s consternation. 

“Did you see the people who go there? They’re all very ‘alternative’.” Strike said the word as if it were an insult. 

“Yeah, I watched the queue for a while; I’m going to have to dress very...differently to fit in with them. You’ll owe me.” Her voice sounded serious but her mouth turned up just a little at the corners. 

“Well, it’s you or me and I might not fit in as well as you!” he said, teasing her. He knew full well that his age and bulk would mark him out immediately as suspicious to everyone there. “Can you imagine me on the dance floor of a club like that? ”Robin’s loud guffaw was expected, but it still stung a bit. “Anyway, do you own any clothing that’s the right kind of different?”

“Nope.” She was mumbling now. “And that’s why I’m shopping online. I don’t seem to be able to find anything this ‘out there’ in the shops. Not the kind of shops I frequent, anyway.” She sighed and then raised her voice again in protest. “I’m not looking forward to being near Shifty in a darkened room either.”

“Well, I’ll be in the room too. I just won’t be as visible as you. The owner said the manager is willing to let me in the side door and I can just stand by the dance floor like a bouncer. I’ll be there if you need me.”

She eyed the meagre scraps of fabric for sale on the unfamiliar site. Strike would see her in a different light in any of these clothes, she thought. Just the idea of it made her blush slightly and she hid her face behind her monitor. It might not be a bad thing: it’d be nice to be seen as a woman. She doubted Strike had ever thought of her that way. She wondered what he’d say! He’d probably be too polite to say anything...or he’d find it funny. She worried that she might just look old and out of place compared to the very young clubbers who went there, and wearing this sort of thing in a room crowded with strangers wasn’t her idea of fun. 

“Bollocks!” Strike closed his eyes tight in exaggerated frustration. 

“What?!” 

He grimaced and then smiled with chagrin. “The file I need next is in one of the boxes I just put away!” As he stooped to start checking the files under the table, Robin put a hand on his arm. 

“Let me!” It was as if he could hear rather than see her rolling her eyes as she ducked underneath, but his feelings of foolishness only lasted until his gaze fixed on her bottom. He made sure to be busy checking another, higher, box by the time Robin emerged.


	2. The Right Kind of Different

Two days later, a parcel arrived at the office for Robin from the alternative clothing company whose products she’d cringed at online. She remembered what she’d bought: what had she been thinking? Strike was going to expect her to be prepared to go to this club and she was going to look...ridiculous! 

“Are you going to try them on then?” Strike looked amused and Robin was suddenly embarrassed again. 

“No I am not! I’ll try them on in the comfort of my own bedroom where no one can laugh at how daft I look!” She tucked the package behind her handbag under her desk, making it clear that she was bringing to a close the topic as well as the possibility of a preview. 

“Don’t be like that,” he laughed. “OK, so you might look a bit different to normal in those clothes, but you always look nice in whatever you wear, Robyn.” 

Strike managed to make this statement sound entirely unpatronising. Was he flirting? Or just being supportive, perhaps? 

“Yes, well, that’s easy for you to say!” You won’t be dressed like a twit.” 

“No more than usual! I thought I’d better wear a suit. What do you think?” 

Robin tried not to show the interest she always felt at the thought of Cormoran in his Italian suit. She’d at least be able to ogle him a bit, but then he’d look dashing and she’d be wearing what she was beginning to think of as a fancy dress costume. “Is that what the kids in clubs are wearing these days?” 

“I thought I’d try and blend in with the bouncers rather than the clientele. Seeing as though I’m so past it.” His eyes crinkled and Robin found herself grinning too.


	3. The Club

Robin dressed for her first foray into alternative clubbing with music blaring, trying to find the courage she needed to step so far out of her comfort zone. A vodka and coke wouldn’t do any harm either, she decided. She filled a glass rather generously. Looking in the mirror she saw a stranger staring back. If she phoned Strike they could call the whole thing off, she was sure. 

But why would she do that? Because she felt a bit silly? Would Strike let a feeling like that get in the way of a job? “Sod it,” she told her refection. She drained her glass, grabbed her black biker jacket and left the house before she could change her mind.

They had arranged to arrive separately in case they bumped into Shifty outside and Robin was glad of that now. It would be reassuring to have Strike here soon, but she still felt that she needed another drink before she could face him in this outfit. 

Robin took off her jacket just inside the entrance and handed it to a grungy looking cloakroom assistant. She tucked the ticket she was given in exchange deep into a pocket. If she lost it, she would have to travel home on the tube without the cover she had been so grateful for on the way here. 

She felt the familiar prickle of stares at her back as she wended her way through clubbers towards the double doors that, judging by the noise, led to the dance floor. Robin already felt very self conscious dressed as she was and as almost every man she passed appraised her, some looking her up and down at their leisure, she became more so. Didn’t these people have peripheral vision? She wished they’d use it. 

The nearest bar wasn’t too busy and Robin drank her double vodka and coke quickly. The sugar would keep her alert but ensure that the alcohol bolstered her confidence before too long. Sure enough, she felt a little calmer after a few minutes. She leaned her elbow on the bar, quietly watching the crowd and swaying her hips gently to the beat. 

The groups around her were all dressed, like her, in things they had not seen in the window displays of high street shops. This seemed to be somewhere where they could show their individuality, and Robin found that she envied them that. The girl jumping and writhing nearest her was dressed in an incredibly short tartan skirt and a t-shirt that seemed to feature the logo of a band Robin hadn’t heard of, while her friend, also wearing a dark t-shirt advertising his taste in metal, had soaped his green hair into gravity defying spikes.


	4. Perfection

Robin was dressed like someone other than Robin tonight. She was someone else, she decided - at least temporarily. Matthew sprang to mind and she imagined what he’d say if he could see his ex-wife here. Suddenly, the clothes, the darkness and the music all felt like parts of her new freedom and she resolved to try to enjoy herself while she could. What had she been frightened of? She had fought off serial killers and survived and most of the people here were only teenagers. She was dressed fairly conservatively compared to some. Reminding herself of her achievements made her feel in control and she put down her drink and stood to her full height - which was considerable in her heeled boots - swaying in time to the rhythm of the music. She decided she no longer cared what anyone else thought. 

When her phone vibrated, it was the text she’d been expecting from Strike to say that he was here. He was in the corner of the other, larger, room. He was positioned near the fire door, just off the dance floor. She text him back to say where she was and that she’d be in sight shortly. She’d get another drink here at this bar first where it was quieter. 

Strike couldn’t see Robin yet and he was worried. This place thronged with people and he didn’t like the look of some of the idiots ‘dancing’ around him. He watched a couple sway to the beat, kissing so enthusiastically that their tongues appeared and disappeared from view every few seconds. The hands of the boy (Strike couldn’t bear to think of this oik as a man) were wandering and the girl seemed pretty out of it. Strike moved closer, standing behind the girl so that the boy was facing him, and gave his sternest glare, honed to perfection in the SIB. When the youth looked up, he blanched at Strike’s sudden interest and the big man in the intimidating suit raised his eyebrows in a wordless question, hands in pockets. The boy’s previously busy tentacles suddenly moved to the girl’s waist. “Get her some water,” Strike ordered. The boy sat the girl carefully on a nearby bench and practically ran to the bar, as fast as his skinny, genital-hugging jeans would allow. 

The relatively tinny song that had been playing gave way to a deeper bass and Strike sighed as his favourite Zeppelin song began to be murdered by the DJ. Why did people feel the need to tinker with perfection? 

Robin recognised ‘The Immigrant song’ as soon as the remix started. It was slightly faster than the original with an added thrumming beat that the flailing, gyrating dancers seemed to appreciate. Hands were suddenly raised into the air and whooping cut through the deafening music. She loved the original and here in the strobing dark, dressed as someone else, with appreciative eyes on her, alcohol whisking its way through her veins and the bass reverberating in her chest, this music made her feel worldly and powerful among the mainly younger clubbers.


	5. Alternative

At first, Strike didn’t recognise that it was Robin walking through the crowd. He didn’t know what he had expected (her usual office attire of pencil skirt or trousers and blouse would hardly fit here), but whatever it was, it wasn’t this. The fact this woman was different to the others in the room registered before the fact that it was Robin because she was so much more...’more’ than anyone else here. 

Her black shorts were ordinary enough, although Strike had never seen Robin wear anything so short. They were high waisted and emphasised the swell of her neat behind and the neatness of her narrower waist. They were just long enough to skim the curve of each buttock. Above them was a flat expanse of naked, creamy skin where they didn’t meet the poison green bustier that was hugging her curves perfectly. The velvet cups were cut to bring her breasts up together to form spectacular cleavage that Strike would not have been able to let himself look at had Robin been nearer. She wore thigh high boots - the height of her heels seeming not to affect her confident stride - and together with the short shorts, they left a large portion of each smooth, shapely thigh on show. Her red-gold hair hung in loose waves. 

Strike couldn’t see her face clearly from this distance but he could tell that she’d done something different with her eye makeup. Most distinctive from where he stood was the difference in the way she moved. Each long stride was measured and unhurried and her hips swayed seductively as she sashayed her way through the mere mortals around her. 

She was spectacular. Unlike most of the slender girls around Strike, Robin had the curves to show off her ‘out there’ clothes to their full advantage. And he could see most of those advantages, even from where he stood. The thought that he was here to keep an eye on her while she worked - and that she wasn’t looking back at him at that moment - made Strike feel slightly less conspicuous and guilty about the way he was watching her. 

Seeing her walk into the room, her movements so confident and fluid, only now could he appreciate the music booming around him. She looked like a goddess, he thought, and the music accentuated the power radiating from her. Usually, Robin’s competence and strength were masked with her endearing kindness and softness, but tonight they were visible for all to see. He could see a whole new side of his business partner: one that frightened and excited him in equal measure.


	6. Handsy

As Robin made her way through the crowded room, a skinny youth sidled up to her and Strike ground his teeth. Robin politely deflected the unwanted attention, edging past him and raising a palm in a gesture that clearly said, ‘no thanks.’ When she settled on a place to stand, placing her drink on a nearby table, the group of floppy haired lads to her left, their arms all tattooed, faces all pierced and eyes all lined, turned as one to look at her. Robin turned away, clearly not interested, and Strike readied himself to intervene if anyone became too insistent. They seemed satisfied to look at her, although the way they nudged each other and the looks they shared boiled Strike’s blood. This was going to be a long night. 

When the next suitor wasn’t deflected so quickly, Strike felt jealousy swell in his chest. This one had been watching Robin with a little more subtlety than the others, although Strike - and Robin, he suspected - had noticed him. 

“Hi there!” Robin had just spotted Shifty near the bar and was reaching for her phone to text Strike when her observer approached. He was quite handsome, Robin admitted to herself: His jaw was square and his eyes crinkled when he smiled, a little like Cormoran’s. It was endearing. His T-shirt had rolled sleeves and the arms it revealed were muscular. She wasn’t usually a fan of tattoos but these suited him. 

“Hi.” 

“I hate to be a walking cliche, but have you been here before? I think I’d have remembered you!” He glanced up and down her body a little less subtly now and she changed her mind in a moment, trying not to let the change of heart show on her face. Creepy. Still, she’d decided on a way to observe Shifty and he’d have to do.

Strike watched the conversation from across the room and waited for Robin to tell this idiot where to go. She was chatting to him, quite animatedly by the looks of it. And he had his hands on her waist, leaning close to talk into her ear. What was she doing? Strike skirted the edge of the dance floor to be nearer - just in case, he told himself - and stopped in his tracks: Shifty was stood near the bar, talking quite unobtrusively to a small group, probably in the middle of a drug deal. Strike was too close to photograph him now. He’d be seen if he tried, and what was Robin doing? He found himself mentally ticking her off for her lack of attention. 

Robin seemed to be taking a selfie with the handsy idiot now. She raised her phone in front of them, her arms outstretched, and they posed, heads together for the picture. It seemed to take a long time, during which he was still touching her Strike noticed, and then Handsy pointed to the phone and creased with laughter. Robin laughed too and pressed a few buttons and then the flash finally lit their smiling faces as she took the picture. Strike wasn’t sure why Robin would want that picture, but whatever the reason, he didn’t like it. He watched her talk into the idiot’s ear once again and then slink seductively away from him through the crowd in the direction of the door. Now where was she going? She wouldn’t be able to see Shifty from there!


	7. Video

Strike stood, conflicted, one eye on Shifty and one on the door through which Robin had disappeared. He was unsure whether he should follow her. His phone buzzed and he opened a message. Robin. He exhaled in relief. 

The video she’d sent seemed to be of her and Handsy and Strike wondered why she had sent their failed attempt at a selfie to him. Was Robin trying to make him jealous? If so, it had certainly worked. 

His phone buzzed again. “Do you think that’s enough footage of Shifty? Can we get out of here? I’m hiding in the toilets.” 

Strike was dumbfounded. He looked at the video again, only now seeing the fact that Shifty was in the background and that Robin had, in fact, been covertly filming him conducting a drug deal while pretending to take her selfie. 

He never should have doubted her - Robin would never let her personal feelings for someone get in the way of a job - and Strike felt a fool. In fact, he had done exactly what he’d been mentally accusing her of. He’d let his jealousy cloud his judgement and in the process had forgotten just how capable his partner was. 

He text back. “I’m coming to you. Meet me outside the ladies.”


	8. Leaving

Strike felt oddly nervous as he walked to where Robin would be waiting, as if they were meeting for the first time. 

When she saw him, a slow smile lit her face and he saw the full effect she’d achieved. The dark coal around her eyes made their blue-grey even more dazzling than usual and, together with the outfit, which left less than nothing to the imagination, the effect had him dazed. He hoped he was smiling back; he couldn’t quite feel his face. 

“Cormoran?” He liked it then, what she’d worn to try to fit in here. And to impress him, she admitted to herself. She watched him visibly swallow and try to gather himself and along with the warm glow his obvious admiration was stirring in her, a flash of pity surfaced. “I know,” she said, charitably. “It’s a bit different to my usual daytime look!” 

He managed a weak smile now. “You can say that again.” 

Robin gestured to the exit and started to walk away, glancing back every minute or so to check he was still behind her. Strike tried with all his might to concentrate and not to let her catch him absorbed in a study of her magnificent bottom, but it took every ounce of control he had left to appear normal, even in this low light. When they drew nearer to their goal, they came up against people walking the other way and Robin turned and took Strike’s big hand in her smaller one to make sure they stayed together. He liked it. A bit too much, he thought.


	9. Decisions, Decisions!

Robin walked - no, strutted, smiling to herself at the thought - through the club towing behind her the man she most wanted to impress. She knew he was looking at her and for once this made her feel desirable and in control rather than self conscious. She felt the feminine sway of her hips, one dipping and one rising with each stride, and thought about Strike’s expression when he’d seen her. Strike, who was normally so in control, whose self-assuredness she found so attractive, had seemed dazed. Dazed by her. 

Robin stopped her slow progress through the crowd and Strike saw that Handsy Man was back, blocking Robin’s path and gesturing angrily towards Strike. He seemed unhappy that she was leaving with him and Strike smiled in grim satisfaction. Handsy was getting aggressive now, poking his finger towards Robin’s chest and thrusting his face forwards towards her. Thinking that he’d quite enjoy laying a hand or two on the prick, Strike stepped closer to Robin, preparing to tuck her behind him and deal with the cause of their current irritation. 

There was no need: Robin suddenly dropped Strike’s hand and stepped forward to stand nose to nose with Handsy, looking him firmly in the eye. Strike couldn’t hear what she said, but to his surprise Handsy took half a step back and skulked away, giving Strike one last bitter look. 

NOW YOU CHOOSE THE ENDING! Do you want Strike and Robin to carry on their night with a Chinese back at the office? Carry on to read chapter 10. Or would you prefer Robin to act on her feelings here and now in the club? Skip to chapter 17.


	10. The Start of ENDING 1

They left, Strike watching Robin walk confidently ahead of him, in awe of her. 

After collecting Robin’s coat, they stepped out into the relative peace of the street and she put it on. As she pulled her red-gold hair out of the collar of her jacket, ready to zip it up, Robin thought she saw Strike take one last look at the bare skin on show underneath. She hid a smile of satisfaction. Strike suddenly found himself disappointed that it seemed his partner had locked away a side to her that he had only just discovered. 

“What did you say to the idiot from your video?” 

“He got all heated about me leaving with you and then he grabbed my arm. I just warned him that that if he didn’t let go and I had to grab him back it would hurt.”

Strike nodded and smiled in appreciation. “It seemed to work!”

“I’ve dealt with much worse than him. I’m starving! Do you fancy a Chinese?”

Strike nodded. “I said I’d meet Sam at the office so he could catch me up on his surveillance for the day. I’ll phone him; it’s his turn to buy.”

Sam met them with Chinese food in hand as arranged, joining them at the corner of Denmark street. His eyes widened as he took in Robin’s shorts and the boots, but a warning look from Strike made him bite his tongue. Only when they got upstairs and she removed her coat in the fug of the office did he really appreciate what she was wearing. 

As quickly as he tried to mask it, Robin read some - but not all - of what Sam was thinking from his expression and felt self-conscious again . “I know, I know! I look ridiculous! I’m going to change.” She sighed, levered off her boots, grabbed a hold-all from under her desk and headed for the loo. 

“Ridiculous is not the word I’d use,” muttered Sam, smirking at Strike as he watched her go. 

This did not have the effect on Strike he’d hoped. “And what is the word you’d use?” He looked angry rather than conspiratorial and his voice was a growl. 

Despite Strike’s very clear warning tone, Sam couldn’t help but smile. “Alright! Not another word from me.” He held his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. Even with Robin looking, in Sam’s opinion, practically edible, he wouldn’t risk pissing him off when he was in full protective mode. He didn’t want to poke that particular bear. 

Robin appeared wearing a pair of leggings, trainers and a hoodie and Sam found himself looking at the silhouette of her legs. Strike, Sam noticed, was suddenly very busy dishing out Chinese food and faffing with containers and cutlery.


	11. Let’s See!

The next night, Strike sat alone in his flat and watched the video Robin had taken on her phone over and over. He was looking not at Shifty but at her. Her eyes were alight with interest, probably focused on her capture of their target, and even the smile she pretended to pull for the deliberately ruined ‘selfie’ was captivating. The man stood next to her was taking every opportunity to touch her. 

He had felt so jealous, but Robin had dealt with him brilliantly. He had always known she was strong, but that didn’t stop him worrying. She was too precious not to worry about. The thought of anything happening to her chilled him. 

He’d just send a quick, professional text, he thought. To find out how her surveillance of the married woman they had been hired to watch had gone that afternoon. She had finished too late to come back the office afterwards. 

“How did you get on today with Yoga Mum?” 

Her reply only took a minute or two, but they seemed like one or two lengthy minutes to Strike. “Nothing new. Yoga, coffee and getting her nails done.”

“Hope you didn’t stay on her too long? We agreed she wasn’t worth following after dark.” 

As she frequently was when talking to her burly business partner, Robin found herself torn between being touched at his concern and annoyed at his worrying. Was he being brotherly? Or was he overprotective for another reason? 

Robin smiled to herself. Let’s see! She was going out with Vanessa later and she had persuaded Robin to wear her highest heels with the dress she’d chosen. They were far from comfortable but they made her feel confident, and they were the ones she thought Strike liked. She thought she had caught him glancing at her legs the few times when she’d worn them in front of him. “Don’t worry if you hear movement in the office later. I’m going to pop round on my way out to pick up that jacket I left there.” 

The thought of her being so near and yet not seeing her made Strike feel odd. He wasn’t doing anything in the flat and there was plenty of work to do. “OK - I’m in the office at the moment sorting through some paperwork. See you in a bit.” He got up, changed his curry stained shirt for a fresher smelling t-shirt and hurried down to the office to find some paperwork that might feasibly be urgent enough to need to be done out of hours.


	12. The Office

When she opened the door and stepped in to the office, Strike was reminded yet again how hopelessly in love and in lust he was with Robin. The dress she was wearing covered much more skin than the last outfit he’d seen her go out in, but the cut of this dress accentuated the curves of her body beautifully. And she was wearing those shoes: the ones that made it impossible to resist looking at her when he thought she wasn’t looking. 

“Hi! Haven’t you got a home to go to, Corm?”

“Forgot to do these.” He held up some of the invoices he had been trying and failing to deal with between daydreams about her. “Fortunately my commute’s short enough that I can pop in to do them. I found your jacket.” He gestured to the arm of the sofa. 

She retrieved it, heels making small percussive noises as she moved, and put it on over her dress. “Thanks. Have you done the Wilson one? Did you find everything? I think I clipped all the bits of paper together.” 

He heard her cross the room and was suddenly aware of her there behind his left shoulder, looking over at the invoices on the desk. He could smell her perfume, faint but familiar, and his body reacted to her closeness. His heart sped up and he tried and failed to relax the set of his shoulders. 

“That must have escaped.” She was right next to him now and she leaned past him, reaching for a receipt on the right side of the desk, her body so close. “It should be clipped to the others.” As she handed it to him, she looked right at him for the first time. They both stopped moving. 

Robin was so aware of Strike’s body next to hers. He stood up, not quickly, but as if he’d made a decision. He turned to face her. God he was big, even with her in heels. She’d always thought she knew her ‘type’ but there was something so masculine and solid about Strike. She felt so much more attracted to him than she ever had been to anyone before. 

“I don’t want to keep you from your night out with Vanessa, but I’d like to talk to you. Have you got a minute?” 

She felt a bit lightheaded. He looked different from his normal, brusque self. There was a softness and yet a determination in his face she hadn’t seen before. “Yeah, sure. I’m not in a rush.” 

“I just want to apologise for being so weird yesterday. At that club. I was a bit of a dick and I just hope I didn’t make you feel uncomfortable. I asked you to do that (he could quite bring himself to say ‘wear that’) and then I...You just looked so different. I wasn’t used to it.” 

“No! You weren’t a dick! I just hope I didn’t embarrass myself, dressed like that.” She was apologising again. Why did she always feel the need to do that? She silently chided herself. 

He was just as careful and quick to correct her as she had been him. “No! Don’t be daft! You were great. Fantastic! In fact, the owner of the club emailed. He’s really pleased with the footage. He’s going to recommend us to other clubs, he said.”

“Great! That’s great.” Back to talking about work, she thought; she felt oddly disappointed. “Well, I’ll see you tomorrow then. Don’t worry, it won’t be a late one so I’ll be in bright and early.” 

“I’m not worried. Have a good time.” 

“Thanks.” She turned to go. 

“Robin - “ He had said it quietly, and she didn’t think anything of it as she turned back to him, but as she faced him again she found that he was closer. Right in front of her.


	13. Smut Ahoy!

Strike kissed her. His lips were gentle on hers and his right hand cupped her cheek. Robin was so stunned that she didn’t react at first and he drew back, frightened he had misread the situation. Her breathing was ragged and her eyes were searching his. She reached to kiss him now and they both moved, each certain for the first time that the other felt the same. 

Robin’s arms snaked around Strike’s neck, holding him close, and his hands were on her back pulling her to him. This kiss wasn’t gentle: all the passion that had been building between them for months - years - broke over them like a wave. Their lips were hungry and insistent and they explored each other’s mouths with searching tongues. Between kisses Strike swore quietly as Robin’s hands found the skin under his t-shirt. She pulled it up, desperate to get at more of the warmth of his stomach and back. Still kissing her, he turned them so that her back was to the desk and reached down to grip her bottom. He gathered her up - effortlessly, it seemed to Robin - and lifted her so that she sat on the edge of the desk. He pressed himself against her once again and they kissed and their hands wandered until Robin pulled back to look at him. 

Her eyes drank in his and she dropped a hand to skim the length of the inside of his thigh. He sighed out his pleasure, mouth slightly open, and it made her brave. 

“Do you have a condom, Cormoran?” Her question took him by surprise and he looked blank as he nodded. When he came to his senses, he kissed her quickly and then went to his wallet in the pocket of his coat. When he turned back to her, she was near the sofa. She gripped the front of his t-shirt and kissed him, tugging at the button of his jeans. It came open and she tugged them down to his thighs, his boxers going with them. Suddenly Robin was pushing him gently down and his bare buttocks were on the sofa. 

Strike should have felt embarrassed, exposed, he thought, sitting in front of a fully clothed Robin like this with his pants down, but all he could feel was arousal. She was reaching under her dress and he gulped as he watched her remove her underwear. Her knickers dropped to the floor and Robin pulled up the length of her dress to straddle him. She looked so confident again, so in control. He didn’t deserve her. 

He ran a hand up her thigh and found, when his fingers explored higher, that she was incredibly wet. He stroked gently there and she moaned, suddenly gripping his length in both hands. God, she was so beautiful. 

She looked down at the condom in his hand and he fumbled to unwrap it, mentally thanking the universe when he got it on reasonably quickly. Robin eased herself up and onto him, bracing herself with her palms on his broad chest and looking him in the eye as she sank down on the full length of him. 

“Fuck! Robin!” 

Her eyes fluttered shut as she came to rest with his length filling her, becoming used to the size of him and consumed with the feel of him in her and against her. He stroked her cheek and she opened her eyes, biting her lip in a smile. She moved now, raising up on her knees and sinking to feel him fill her again and again. Strike gathered her into his arms and she flung hers around his neck, kissing him and moaning into his ear and then burying her head in his neck. 

She sensed when he was near his peak and she thrilled at the thought that they might reach it together. She sped up and suddenly Strike’s thumb was punctuating each of their thrusts and bounces with strokes of her clitoris. 

As Robin came, Strike let go and thrust upwards, his pleasure bursting into her and a grunt escaping him. She collapsed onto his chest, her head flopped on his shoulder, and he hugged her to him.


	14. Invitation

“Do you want to stay with me tonight? At the flat, I mean.” He felt oddly shy, considering he was still inside her, but he didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to be able to touch her and sleep next to her. 

“I’d like that.” She kissed him and then started to get up. She found herself enveloped in another bear hug and she smiled. 

When he let her up, Strike’s face fell. He was doing his trousers up as she righted her dress. “What about Vanessa?” 

Robin smiled knowingly. “She had an inkling you might be here when I came in. She said if I didn’t come back she’d go on without me. Come on. Bed!” 

Strike wasn’t arguing. When they got up to the flat, Robin followed him into his bedroom. She sat to take off her heels and he looked, unabashed at last, at her endless legs. She returned his hungry look, breaking eye contact only as she lifted her dress over her head. She took off her underwear and she was naked as she climbed into his bed. 

She kissed the nape of Strike’s neck as he sat and she lifted the hem of his t-shirt once more to run the palms of her hands over the warm skin underneath. He pulled it over his head and then removed his trousers and his prosthesis, getting under the covers in just his boxers. She pressed her nakedness against him, facing him while they lay on their sides. They kissed, softly and tenderly this time, and Robin spoke between pressing her lips to his. 

“Can you take these off too?” She slipped each of her index fingers under the elastic of his boxers. 

“Erm...I’m not ready to go again just yet.” He looked embarrassed but the corner of his mouth was slightly raised in a shy smile. 

“I know. Don’t worry, I not going to jump you, I just want to be naked with you. I’ve waited a long time for this!” 

He smiled and obliged. They lay, each stroking slowly and marvelling at the warmth of the other’s body. Robin melted into Strike’s arms and felt her eyelids droop.


	15. Feelings

Robin only came to her senses as Strike shifted slightly, seeming awkward after such sudden closeness. “I probably should have brought this up before,” he started, quiet and hesitant. “I went about this all wrong. I mean, not this...this was...” He sighed. Robin tensed. What could be so awful that it would make him look so sad now? “I want to do this right. Be honest with you.” Her stomach lurched. If this was just a fling for Strike - just sex - this was going to hurt. She tried to brace herself. 

“I don’t know where your head is at the minute, what with your divorce and everything, and I don’t want to pressure you...” He swallowed and looked so lost that her heart ached for him. “This is big for me, Robin. You mean a lot to me. A lot more than is sensible!” He wasn’t looking at her, focusing his eyes instead on the thumb with which he was stroking increasingly quick, nervous circles on her arm. “Especially considering we’re business partners. I don’t want this to be too much too soon, but I can’t go back to what were. It’s totally OK if you don’t feel the same way.” He was making it very clear, with both his facial expression and his clumsy body language, that it wouldn’t be at all fine. Robin’s heart sped up, stuttering joyously now. “I just can’t...I want...”

Robin kissed him, as tenderly as she could manage, trying to infuse the kiss with just some of the wealth of emotion building up in her. “Shh!” she soothed. “Cormoran. I love you. I want to be with you. This is a big deal for me too.”

He closed his eyes as he pressed his forehead to hers and cupped her cheek in his hand, squeezing her with the other arm that was still wound around her body. “Thank fuck for that!” They both laughed quietly. “I love you too.” It was a whisper of relief. His next intake of breath was unsteady and she wondered if he was crying. She pressed herself against him, still not quite believing that she was here and that he loved her. 

They didn’t speak for a while after that. Strike dragged his finger tips lightly up and down her back in long, lazy strokes, hugging her to him protectively with this other arm and dropping gentle kisses on the temple, cheek and shoulder nearest his lips. Robin ran her finger tips through the hair on his chest and sighed in pure pleasure at his touch, her eyes closed.


	16. (End Of Ending 1)

Neither Robin or Strike had any idea how long they lay like that. The window was ajar and the sounds of the city drifted in. Robin felt very fond of London; it was the city that had brought all of the best things into her life. In time, the hand holding her slid lower to first stroke and then grip her buttock and the back of the hand stroking her body skimmed the side of her breast. She shuddered in delight and pressed herself into the erection now pressed against her. She beamed her encouragement at him as Strike rolled her gently onto her back, moving down to kiss and lick her breasts, then give her nipples more direct attention that seemed to send a lightning bolt straight to her groin. She gripped the bed sheets on either side of her. “Do we have another condom?” 

“Nope!” It seemed he’d already thought of this; he didn’t stop, stroking, licking and kissing her in a way that was taking Robin’s breath away. She tried to concentrate, to clear her head. “Cormoran, I don’t think we should...”

Strike looked up to meet her gaze. “We won’t need a condom for what I’m going to do to you.” His lips inched lower, followed by those strong, gentle hands. 

As Strike shifted lower down the bed, fidgeting briefly to make sure he wasn’t bearing weight on his bad knee, Robin became lost in the feel of him against her skin. Her last thought before her animal instincts took over completely was that she was looking forward to returning the favour. The thought of being able to give pleasure - to tease and excite him - made her feel, if possible, even more of her own pleasure. Then she was lost in feeling and, for a while, there were no thoughts.


	17. The Start of ENDING 2

Robin led the way as before, but the queue stopped again and she turned to Strike to motion to him that they’d have to go round the drunken girls blocking the way. He looked worried. 

“What happened with him?” The music was so loud that Strike had to bow his head to talk with his lips near her ear. He pulled back to look at her face and the concern was so evident and so sincere in his expression that she glowed again, sure now that Strike really did feel something for her. 

“He got all heated about me leaving with you and then he grabbed my arm. I just warned him that that if he didn’t let go and I had to grab him back it would hurt.”

He shook his head in disbelief, his wide grin advertising both his amusement and admiration. She saw his lips move, but didn’t hear his answer. “What?” 

He ducked his head again to speak into her ear. “You are something else!” 

Robin wasn’t sure if it was her newfound confidence, the cover of the loud music and the low light or the warm glow she’d felt at the look on Strike’s face, but she suddenly felt able to do what she hadn’t ever been able to in the light of day.


	18. “Fuck it!”

Strike thought he saw her mutter something that looked suspiciously like, “Fuck it.” Before his brows could knit in confusion she had closed the small gap between them, slid her hand around to the back of his neck to bring his face down to her level and pressed her lips to his. 

When the initial shock subsided, Strike’s body acted for him. Her lips were firm against his, as though she was trying to express her certainly at her feelings for him, but lust boiled in Strike so quickly that his lips began to move passionately against hers and he drew her hard against his body with one hand round her waist and one in her hair. 

The kiss became very heated very quickly. Robin’s initial relief that Strike wanted her was eclipsed by the ecstasy of feeling him under her hands and the sensation of kissing him. His chest felt so firm and warm against her and she found that she couldn’t get enough of him. Evidently, Strike felt the same. He was crushing her to him as they kissed, tongues mingling and lips exploring, and she found she didn’t want him to ever let go. 

The hand around Robin’s waist was pressed against the warm, bare skin of her back and Strike stroked back and forth, revelling in the feel of her. His other hand slipped from the nape of her neck and descended to her bottom, squeezing one cheek and sending delicious shivers down Robin’s body. 

Robin suddenly had the feeling that they had an audience and broke from the kiss to find that the crowd was moving again and that they were now causing an obstruction. She laughed, Strike grinning, and towed him towards the exit.


	19. Outside

The minute they stopped moving he enveloped her again, reaching for her and pressing her to him. He kissed her lips again and then her neck, her jaw and her collar bone. When his mouth drifted lower to her cleavage, a jagged intake of breath from Robin reminded Strike that they were in the street. Realisation that they were in public seemed to come to her at the same time and they stood, facing each other, quiet and still now. 

He stroked her face with the back of his hand. “I’ve wanted to do that for ages.” 

She smiled, radiant. “Me too. Should we go?” She bit her lip and there was a definite twinkle in her eye and Strike felt his groin tighten. He looked serious, she thought.

He wanted her so badly that it was like a physical ache, but he didn’t want to move too fast. “I don’t want to mess this up, Robin.” She was too precious to him. Too vital a part of his life. The thought of what this might do to their working relationship and their friendship hung in the air, unspoken and heavy. “I think we should take it slow. I think we should get you a cab home.” 

This wasn’t what Robin’s body, or her ego, wanted to hear. Her face fell, but he was probably right. She wanted to savour him and for them to be careful with each other’s feelings now that the truth of those feelings was finally out there. Both Matthew and Charlotte had done a lot of damage in the past. She didn’t want them to add to it by rushing into anything. “I think we should be sensible. Careful. There’s no need to rush anything, but I don’t want to go home on my own. Could we maybe not rush things...at your flat? Together?” She stepped in close and pressed against his reassuring bulk. “I just want to be near you.” She was glad to see he liked the idea as much as she did.


	20. Denmark Street

When they got to the flat, Strike clicked the kettle on and sat on the sofa. “I’ll sleep here.” He gestured with his chin at its lumpy form. “You take the bed.”

“I came here to be with you, Cormoran. Would it be unfair of me to ask you to sleep with me, in the bed?” She sank down next to him, eyes soft and voice low. “If nothing’s going to happen, I mean. Would it be too...hard...to do that?”

“It might well be hard, yes.” His tone and the smirk on his face made it clear that he found her choice of words funny and she had to laugh with him at his double entendres. “But it’d be worth it.” His face was soft but serious now. “I’d like that. I want to be with you too. Whatever that means at this stage.”

Their kiss was tender, but her heart still raced and he still thrilled at the feel of her in his arms. He still couldn’t quite believe this. 

“Could I borrow a t-shirt to sleep in?” He liked the idea of her wearing his things. He found her a T-shirt - more than long enough for Robin to sleep in because of his size - and a spare toothbrush. While Robin went to change, Strike made them a tea and tried not to think about what she’d look like without his clothes on. Not yet. 

By the time Robin came out of the bathroom, makeup washed off and teeth brushed, he’d swapped his shirt for a t-shirt too and was putting a cup of tea on one side of the bed - her side, she realised. She smiled as he made his way to the other side and started to undo his belt. She took the tea and climbed into bed, deliberately not looking as he took off his trousers and letting him have the privacy to unbuckle his prosthesis. He slid into bed in a T-shirt and boxers.


	21. Bed

They were still quiet as they turned to each other, but it wasn’t awkward silence. She put down the mug and reached for his warmth and they curled together; he tucked her under his chin. She smiled at the reassuring bulk of him and breathed in his familiar scent. He felt like a wall of muscle, despite the softness at his middle, and she ran a hand along the muscles of one arm and up into the sleeve of his t-shirt to feel his broad shoulder. She felt, rather than heard, the low hum of contentment in his chest and he squeezed her more tightly for a moment. 

Now that most of the earlier adrenaline had subsided and she was so comfortable, Robin dozed. When she surfaced, she could feel him stroking her back gently. “I’m sorry, I fell asleep on you.” She was mumbling, lethargy pulling her back down. 

She couldn’t see his face but she could hear his smile. “Don’t be sorry. I liked it. Go back to sleep.” He stroked her hair, thrilled that he didn’t have to stop himself touching it - touching her - now. 

“You sound wide awake though. It’s not fair on you.”

“Don’t you worry about me. I’m having a great time.” There was easy humour in his voice but he wasn’t joking. He had kissed Robin. He was holding Robin. She wanted him. 

This was going to work, she realised sleepily. She wanted this and so did he. They both wanted the quiet moments as well as the passionate ones. She drifted to sleep. 

Robin rolled away after a while, probably too hot, and he watched her. She was so special. And now she was his. He finally allowed himself some time to think about what might be to come: about Robin being naked in his bed, touching her bare skin. Robin touching him. It took Strike a long time to get to sleep, and when he did it was to dreams of red-gold hair and poison green clad cleavage.


	22. Morning

Strike woke to an empty bed. He was just debating whether to ring her or put on his prosthesis to go and look for her when she appeared with tea and a plate of toast. Her hair was wild and the t-shirt came almost to her knees. “I’d have made something else, but you only had bread.” 

His smile was broad but his eyes still looked tired. “Yeah I need to go shopping. I was worried; I thought you’d gone.” 

In answer, she put down the tea and toast, climbed onto the bed and straddled him. Strike swallowed. She was all tousled hair and warm skin. His hands rested on her waist and she bit her lip in smiling excitement. “Why would I leave?” 

“I thought you might have changed your mind about us.”

“What made you think that?” 

He sighed, looking embarrassed. “I suppose this felt too good to be true.”

She bent to kiss him. He dodged the kiss, leaning away, but smiled. “You’ve brushed your teeth but I have morning breath. Back in a minute.” She nodded, smiling too, and moved to let him go to the bathroom. Strike was worried about morning breath, but he had been more concerned about her sitting on him like that. His body had reacted to Robin’s nearness and he didn’t want to embarrass either of them. Sat there in his boxers, it would have been only too clear how he felt and what his body wanted. 

By the time he came back in, Robin was back in bed. As he climbed in and pulled her to him, she smiled such a happy, welcoming smile that it felt like his heart stopped for a moment and he lay still, just looking at her. 

‘He loves me’, she realised. And she loved him too. ‘Probably best wait until we’ve seen each other naked before I tell him though. I don’t want to freak him out.’ When she kissed him, she threw one leg over his, tangling them together, and had the sudden urge to get the nakedness underway right then and there. But there was a conversation to be be had before that could happen.


	23. The First Elephant

“I need to go home”, she said. She saw his face fall. The happy creases round his eyes faded and he nodded sombrely. “Just to get changed,” she corrected herself quickly. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get a few things and come right back.” 

“I’d like that.” And she could tell it was true. 

When she got to her flat, Robin showered and then threw on a fresh top. She changed the thigh high boots for knee highs and her shorts for a denim skirt and raced to pack the things she would need to get back to Strike; back to her Cormoran. 

She found him on the sofa in front of the TV, dressed now. His face lit up as she came in and she climbed into his lap to greet him, but Cormoran lifted her with a quick kiss, putting her gently down where he’d been sat and headed for the kitchen. “Tea?”’

“Yeah, sure.” She felt all at sea now. Strike had started the kettle and leaned against the wall opposite. Should she go? He’d looked disappointed that she was going and seemed happy she was back. So why didn’t he want to be near her? 

“Can we talk about one of the elephants in the room? We work together, Cormoran. You know the business is as important to me as it is to you. I don’t want us...this...” She gestured to him and then herself. “...To have a negative impact.”

“I’ve been thinking about that.” He looked so keen, so confident they could do it, she thought. So why was he all the way over there? “If we keep business separate from personal in office hours, I don’t see how it’s very different.” 

‘At this rate, that shouldn’t be difficult,’ she thought, looking longingly at the way his rolled sleeves revealed his muscular arms. He made the tea and finally came go sit next to her again. They talked and made decisions about work and Robin felt a little braver.


	24. A Second Elephant

“Now that’s sorted, the other elephant in the room is...” She hesitated, unsure how to word it. “...Where we go from here.”

Strike wondered if she wanted a commitment from him. She could have anything she wanted. Her hand was on his knee and her eyes flitted between his face and the hand as it moved slowly higher up his thigh. Oh. His heart rate sped. 

“Cormoran, why do you move away when I get near you? I want to be right next to you.” To demonstrate her point she straddled him again, but she moved carefully, as if she might scare him. 

Strike’s breathing was uneven: faster and more shallow with her so close. His hands went to her waist. “I want you to be next to me - believe me - I just didn’t want to pressure you into doing anything you didn’t want to. I worried I’d get carried away.” She looked pleased. 

“I like the sound of that.” She moved closer and his eyes moved quickly from her eyes to her lips. “On the subject of that same elephant in the room, I don’t know about you, but I think we’re ready to lose the clothes now. We’ve been responsible. Let’s enjoy the irresponsible bit.”

Strike’s imagination was off and running before he could catch up. Robin in his bed. Robin in his shower. Robin here on his sofa, naked and wanting him. She leaned in and kissed him and he allowed his hands to bring her in closer still. They were pressed crotch to crotch sat like this. He no longer cared if she could feel his erection. Given the way he felt, it would still have been obvious from the other side of the room. Robin ground against him gently and then sat back a bit, eyes heavy with lust. 

“After some lunch that is.” There was a wicked looking smile on her face. She was well aware of the effect she was having on him. Strike kissed her, groaning into her mouth and she broke away, laughing and running her fingers through his hair.


	25. Lunch

Over pasta they chatted and laughed, fingers interlocking whenever they weren’t holding cutlery. They shared stories from their childhoods, tales of their first kisses and first romances and ideas about the future. They walked back to Strike’s flat, after a quick stop for supplies, with their arms around each other. 

“You’d like Cornwall. I’d like to show you.” She tucked her feet under herself on the sofa, leaning to be as close to him as possible. “I’d love that.” Strike brushed a strand of red-gold hair back behind her ear. 

With all of the shared history between them and with the burden of their worries about work shed, a sudden heat spread from Strike’s fingers to Robin’s body. He bent his head to kiss her and she melted into him. She felt his hands on her and she ran one of her hands down his neck and the other through the hair at the back of his head. 

Strike suddenly pulled back and she was worried that he might get up and walk away again. He had a mischievous look in his eye.


	26. To Bed

Strike stood up and took her hand to help her up. There was half a heart beat where they stood next to each other, Robin looking curiously at him, then he grabbed her and lifted her. He threw her over his shoulder. She protested, “Cormoran, your knee!”’but she was laughing. 

It was only a few of Strike’s long strides to the bedroom, where he put her down, gently this time, on his bed. She stopped laughing as she saw the intensity on his face. She knelt up and lifted her top over her head. It dropped to the floor and she helped Strike unbutton his shirt. She stood up, discarding her boots and skirt and there she was in front of him in her underwear. Strike’s eyes looked intense, almost sad. She stroked his face, suddenly worried that he might be disappointed. “Are you ok?” 

“I can’t quite believe you’re here. That you’re real.” 

As if to prove it, Robin took hold of his hands. She placed his left on her right buttock and his right on her left breast, grinning. “Neither are firm enough to not be real.” She was joking, he could tell, but there was some insecurity there. She must really worry about this. He almost wanted to laugh. The woman he had fantasised and daydreamed about for so long was worried he wouldn’t find her attractive. 

“Both are perfect,” he said, using his hold on her to bring her closer. “You are so perfect, Robin.” He voice was husky now. “I have wanted you for so long.” 

In response, Robin kissed him and reached back to undo her bra. She let it fall and slipped her knickers down to take them off. Strike swore, looking down at her body as he kissed her shoulders. “Your turn.”

Strike undid his trousers and then sat to take them and his prosthesis off. Robin sat behind him on the bed as he did, tracing the scar on his back gently with her fingers and kissing his neck and shoulders. He groaned as her kisses became more insistent; less light and more passionate.

Robin moved to his side to allow Strike to move up the bed, both edging backwards so that when they lay down facing one another their heads were on the pillows. She tucked her body as close in to his as she could and her fingers were gentle as she slid them into the waistband of his boxers. She pulled them down and he finished the job, dropping them to the floor. 

Strike put one arm under her - Robin lifting up to let him - and his strong arms were round her. Their lips met again and there was such heat that, for Robin, everything else fell away until there was just her and her Cormoran. Her skin burned with satisfying, completing warmth where his hands touched her and she gasped as he ran them gently over her sides, her hips, her breasts and her back. 

Robin’s hands were still between them, one tucked in next to the mattress and the other running over his chest as her tongue slid against and around his. Strike’s mind and body were totally absorbed in the sensation of her smooth skin against him and under his hands, and the tightness in his groin that her kisses were increasing. 

He rolled her gently onto her back and one hand drifted down her body while the other arm held his weight. He lightly skimmed her hip and stroked the inside of her thighs, making Robin gasp into his mouth. His fingers trailed her stomach and then they were back to her thighs, closer this time to where Robin was so desperate for Strike to touch her. The lightness of his touch both thrilled and frustrated her. He teased her, his fingers making the blood rush to her centre and her skin prickle with heat. Nearer still, but not quite touching her clitoris, Strike took her higher and higher.


	27. The End

She was moving to press herself against his hand now, aching to be touched. Strike’s erection was pressed against her and she looked down and took it in her hand. Like Strike himself, it was large and imposing but Robin felt nothing but longing and satisfaction as it twitched at her touch and Strike groaned. She gripped him and worked him up and down, slowly but firmly. 

Strike ran a finger gently, in a long languorous stroke, through her wetness, and Robin cried out. She gasped as he repeated it, her body rising to a crescendo that she wanted him to share. She stopped stroking him and shifted so that he pressed against the wetness between her legs. “Do you have a condom? Please say yes!” 

Strike laughed at the desperation in her voice, kissing both cheeks, and then reached to fetch one from a draw by the bed. It was on before she knew it and Strike was back, pressed against her. 

She was so wet that her warmth enveloped him more easily than she had thought it might, but the feel of his bulk filling her so satisfyingly nearly made Robin lose control then and there. She gasped and arched her back, pressing her clitoris against his body. The sensation was all consuming. 

There were tears on her cheeks and Strike wiped them away, frightened suddenly that he’d hurt her. “Robin!” His face was concerned when she opened her eyes. 

She smiled to reassure him and rolled her hips. “You feel so good inside me.” Her glazed eyes said what she couldn’t with words and she gripped his buttocks to pull him against her. 

“Fuck. I love you Robin.” He pulled back and pushed into her warmth again, gritting his teeth and listening to her moan in pure pleasure. He wouldn’t be able to hold on for long. 

Neither would Robin. As they moved together, her moans and breathy cries became louder and she held him more tightly to her body. When she came, the mewling noise she made sent him crashing over the edge too and they crested a rolling wave of pleasure together. 

“I meant it,” he said as they lay in a heap. “I love you. I have done for ages.” 

“Me too. I love you, Cormoran.”


End file.
